Wishes Upon A Death Star
by knitzkampf
Summary: Pivotal moments of realization for those aboard the Death Star. Takes place during A New Hope, when the first Death Star was in use. (Not the second and definitely not the third.)
1. A New Hope

Soon she would be dead.

Leia Organa wondered how she was supposed to feel about that. She wished she could tap on her cell door and ask a guard. _Excuse me, but in your experience could you please tell me how the other prisoners_ _behave_ _before_ _their_ _execution?_

She doubted many felt nothing. She didn't even have the energy to care.

She lay back on the hard ledge, exhausted but not sleepy. She didn't want to wait. Didn't want to fight. Just wanted to lie there and stare, mutely, without thoughts, at the wall.

She was practicing, getting ready. Death was silent and thoughtless.

One thing: she would like to know how the story played out. The rest of it. What happened to the little R2 unit? In her mind it was alive. She knelt in front of it, and it beeped. Then she sent it on her mission. Had it found General Kenobi? Had they made it to Alderaan to deliver the plans as she instructed? Were they blown to bits?

She was on her back, like a dead person. She felt the ledge under her shoulder blades and she felt the arch in her back begin to lower. Her feet slacked and fell to the side.

The plans and what happened existed in some disconnect in her mind. It was like a cause and effect gone wrong. _If the plans are stolen,_ she could hear a rhetoric teacher in her head, _it then follows the Death Star is destroyed._

But that's not what happened. Leia, transported by her memory to university, corrected her instructor. _No, sir. It is true the cause was the theft of the_ _plans,_ _but it followed that_ _Alderaan was destroyed._

 _No!_ her mind screamed. _No._

Then she calmed back into numbness. _Yes,_ she told- something, someone, in her mind. _Yes I will die._ Maybe it was her father. He had worried. He had looked for an alternative to deliver the plans, because he didn't want her to be the one.

So the Rebellion was over. She felt a great sorrow, for those who would continue to live under the shadow of tyranny long after she was gone. She worried for her father, what his last moments had been like, who had dedicated so much of his life to this cause. Had he learned of her failure? Did he mourn her while he mourned himself? _Who knew_ , his aide would brief him in the afterlife, at a conference table, very much like the one at home, because memories were vivid and all she had, _Who knew, Viceroy Organa, that it would be your daughter-_

Fuck you, she told the sniveling voice. What did you know? What did you do- nothing. Nothing!

Her back was seized by a powerful cramp, and she rolled over, settling on a hip to relieve the pressure. It wouldn't be long, but for now she still had feeling. She stared at the wall and noticed how her lungs surrounded by the seizing muscles ached.

She remembered him. Lord Cardanna, _Ven to you, Your Highness._ Her father's aide, a young man from a good family. There had been discussion about joining the two families. Tall, with wavy dark hair that he combed meticulously several times a day- she'd seen him pull the comb from his inner jacket pocket. That's how he met death, she was certain of it. The laser streaked from space toward Alderaan, and he stood on the balcony next to her father, who was sagged with resignation, and he pulled out his comb, arranged his hair, and put the comb back in the pocket.

Maybe she should have married him. Her death would be by execution squad. His was, what?- stoic, noble? Vain? Shocked? He hadn't done anything but nag. She had failed. A far worse thing, wasn't it?

She relapsed into mere instinct, listening to the involuntary functions of her body. She breathed, her heart beat. There was no need to sleep, except to pass the time, and that seemed like cheating. Her eyes blinked, on their own. Suddenly, she thought what about her bladder? Should she empty it, before-

Who was vain now, she thought. She wanted a clean dress, a clean body. Her hands roved over her hair, tidied the two rolled buns.

How to leave a lasting impression? Beyond the involuntary soiling of herself, which was something by which she did not wish to be remembered. She was Princess Leia of Alderaan. She was a prisoner aboard a death star. They had tried to break her will, her spirit, but she'd held on. They had taken Alderaan; she would give them nothing else.

Would Grand Moff Tarkin attend? Lord Vader? The executioner was no doubt an Imperial flunkey. There was a certain ritual, wasn't there? Her smooth brow furrowed slightly, thinking. One's crimes were read aloud, one was given the chance to beg for mercy…

The famous poet Hitatchka was known more his execution than for his poems. "The art of protest is stronger than any army," he spoke just before they beheaded him, and his words had become true, because he said them.

Last words! Yes, that was the key. Leia willed herself to think beyond mere being and memory. She forced herself to think of the future, how she would comport herself, knowing others were watching, how she could live for eons in the tales of an imprisoned society, all because she had said…

 _The souls of Alderaan will haunt you._

No, it had to be personal, yet embracing.

Hitatchka used his art, his career. What was Leia? Like Hitatchka, she used words for a living. She was a senator.

 _Maybe not in my lifetime, but your rule will end._

No, that was vapid, or vague-

The door opened, and she got angry, because she wasn't ready yet. It was just one storm trooper to bring her to her death. Apparently they expected all the fight to be gone from their victims that the usual armed pair was thought needless.

The trooper cocked his head to the side, and Leia raised herself on her elbow.

She was a Princess. No one should forget how the Empire executed a princess.

 _I would make a better Emperor than you._

She pressed two fingers together, committing the phrase to memory.

Her time was up, and she was sorry, for she was young, and she believed in opportunity. Maybe, just maybe, her R2 unit was still where the escape pod had landed it. Maybe the plans had not been obliterated. There was still a chance. As long as she was alive, so was the Rebellion. Her words had to reach, not just to the outer edges of the galaxy, but into the hearts of her citizens. They had to see not just the Princess who scorned an Emperor as he ordered her execution, but themselves. Each and every being had the potential to lead.

Then she looked down on death's escort, remembering to be scornful and haughty to the last. "Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?" she said.

It was no matter. There was purpose in death.


	2. Become More Powerful

His robe flapped about his ankles as he walked hastily, almost hobbled, but that was his aged knees, not the robes. Had he grown smaller over the years?

That was the cost of hiding, of living outside the Force, Obi Wan Kenobi considered to himself as he made his way towards the tractor beam controls of the Death Star.

He only barely had an idea of how much actual time had passed. He measured it in himself, the gray of his beard and the dulling of the blue of his eyes, much like his lightsaber. And he measured it in the life of the boy, Luke, who was now a young man. Old enough to strike out on his own, though circumstances had given him a cruel push. Both moved forward, but in Obi Wan's mind Luke was the future, vibrant and full of life, while Obi Wan's light waned to become history. It had been too many years that Obi Wan had begun to wonder if Luke had an uncommon destiny after all; nothing of significance ever seemed to happen on Tatooine, but the holomessage catapulted them both without any warning. Luke may not quite be ready, but it couldn't be helped.

Obi Wan had never been here before, never even knew the Death Star existed, but memories coursed through him, leading him to the familiar. He had been a young man once. Indomitable, infallible, and then he wasn't. And then he was old.

Time was an equalizer, he hoped. There were others who had grown old, too.

But his sense of mortality in a way delighted him, and despite the gravity of his situation, he felt- almost cheerful, almost content, but not quite. It was perhaps human nature to grumble at one's fate, to complain about the lack of preparation, asked as he was to do nothing for so long. The Force streamed through him now, though he hadn't allowed it in years, and he reveled in the sweat staining his tunic at his armpits.

The Death Star was vast; straight, narrow corridors that intersected with each other only seldom. In his mind, he knew where he had to go but the actual way was more of a maze.

He almost stopped as that thought uttered itself to him in words; somehow that was very meaningful, and he wished he could take a moment to meditate, but time was of the essence. It was clear now, what his role was; Obi Wan _was_ history and he had to ensure that Luke get off this Death Star; the risk was too great.

Luke knew, Obi Wan thought. He wouldn't admit it to himself but his too-meager introduction to the Force was probably warning him.

Obi Wan had known the moment Luke coaxed his new droid out of hiding after the attack by the Sand People. He had made sure over the years to keep tabs on Luke and they were not unknown to one another, but their last encounter on Tatooine was so very different. What a thrill it had caused Obi Wan, what a tremor of dread, and a ripple of goosebumps crossed his flesh in the desert heat.

The droid! It still had the same designation, still beeped in that expressive droid talk that allowed a sentient to project emotion… R2 followed a new master now, and Obi Wan had eyed it sharply, wondering if it knew it was bringing all full circle.

The Force worked in funny ways. Obi Wan would see Anakin again.

This was the reason he had hurried out of the engineering station, leaving Luke behind with the smuggler and the wookiee. This was the reason he ignored the stiffness in his hips, moving away fast enough that if Luke should change his mind, open the door and call out, "Ben, wait!" the smuggler would pull him safely back inside.

Funny, and not so funny, how destinies would converge here, on the Death Star. The past and the future. Anakin, and Luke and the droid, who carried a holomessage recorded by Princess Organa. Obi Wan was not allowed to be a spectator. He had a job to finish, something he'd left undone for too long. At least, that was his understanding.

He had never seen the young woman in the holomessage before, but in it she mentioned her father, and Alderaan; he had a strong feeling he was looking at the little baby Bail Organa had brought to his wife the queen the same night Obi Wan had brought the infant Luke to Tatooine.

Leia, Obi Wan recalled. Padme had named them both before her death. It was a jolt to see her, how composed she was in the face of death. Bail had indicated how lucky he and his wife were to be able to take in the baby, but not every orphan was raised a princess. Her birth, her circumstance- Bail had managed to bring out her greatness, and it was shining now. Too bad no one else would see.

The lost princess and her message brought his thoughts back to Luke, who could not see his own greatness. Princess Leia faced death and asked for help. Obi Wan had asked Luke for help, and Luke couldn't even face his uncle. Obi Wan let himself smile wanly. It would always be Luke's charm, but right now it was a difficult obstacle to overcome.

The weight of so many years, Obi Wan thought. Luke's eyes were blue and innocent. So many lives ruined.

 _Isn't she lovely,_ he wanted to converse idly with Luke. She was so like her mother.

She was an activist; evidently, Bail had not kept his reactionary ideas from her. How could he not, and Obi Wan forgave him easily, for she was indeed lovely. Well-spoken, and intelligent; it was clear her character stemmed not from the tragedy of her birth but rather the hope of her future. How very like Bail.

Bail had never stopped resisting. He spent the years as his baby daughter grew up building to the fight while Obi Wan trudged through a desert he hated, scrabbling for news in shabby port cantinas. It had sometimes been almost painful to live as a hermit and suppress the Force. Without it he sometimes felt he really was the doddering outcast the Tatooine moisture farming community thought him to be. He hoped Anakin would remember him as he was, not the tired, gray man he was now.

Obi Wan felt a small, misguided hope, for it was impossible to accept Anakin Skywalker as he was now; Obi Wan would forever see his friend and brother-in-arms as the tall young man, passionate and zealous. Not unlike Luke.

Which was a similarity that caused Obi Wan some concern. Anakin would know he was here, but that couldn't be helped. Obi Wan didn't want to hide any longer, anyway.

Though his mind was still sharp, and the Force endowed him with a stamina he hadn't felt in a long time, Obi Wan was a little out of breath. Stormtroopers jogged by, their weapons raised, and there was a new tension in the air. Obi Wan forced himself to move faster, fearing something had happened. He wouldn't put it past the smuggler to do something brash.

The tractor beam was located near huge pillars of generators and reactors, and Obi Wan crept along the walkway carefully. Timing was important. First the tractor beam. The smuggler's ship had to escape, with Luke and the droids aboard. Only then would Obi Wan allow himself to meet Anakin.

There. The lever was well-oiled and slid into the off position with Imperial smoothness.

He kept his hand on the lever a moment, thinking of the ship that would carry Luke away, and of the smuggler who piloted it. Where would he bring Luke? If destinies converged, why was the smuggler here?

It was a good question, Obi Wan thought. Without Obi Wan, without anyone on Tatooine calling Luke home, Luke was an orbitless rock, and Obi Wan was entrusting his custody to a smuggler.

Just a label, Obi Wan dismissed any worries. There hadn't been time in that Mos Eisley cantina to really scope out a quality of character, and wasn't Obi Wan Ben, the crazy hermit on the Dune Sea? A fine label, one that kept him watchful and in the way if he wanted to be, or out of touch and muttering if needed. Yes, smuggler was just something slapped on top, like a bandage, or disguise, something that offered enough information no one would feel the need to peel it off and look any deeper.

From his vantage point he could see down to the hangar, and moved around the cat walk until he his eyes found just the edge of the mandible that was part of the Millennium Falcon's cockpit. He considered it a moment, and decided to wait down there. Either Luke would come, or Anakin. The Force was never certain.

Obi Wan hoped it would be Luke. The boy needed time. He deserved an explanation. And if they escaped with the plans...

The base was busy, preoccupied. Imaginations were limited by Imperial procedure. Stormtroopers were informed there were looking for three intruders and had a description of two human males and a wookiee. They all ignored the odd sight of an elderly man in a shabby brown robe, and Obi Wan made it down to the hangar level unimpeded.

It was the red lightsaber that let Obi Wan know it was Anakin. The figure before him was too tall, too black, too _costumed_ to be real. But he spoke, in a voice too deep, with inflections not at all like Anakin's: "I've been waiting for you, Obi Wan."

 _Ah, well,_ Obi Wan surrendered in thought and lit his blue lightsaber. He was glad he hadn't died years ago. It meant living on a desert world and it meant he couldn't be a Jedi, but he wasn't sure there were sun rises in the Force, and he doubted there was something cool and refreshing like blue milk. He would always have the Force. He wasn't afraid and he wasn't sorry.

He danced with his saber, a little awkwardly after all this time, and caught the attention of the troopers, who came to watch the one-sided duel. Out of the corner of his eye he spied R2 rolling towards the ship, the other droid- also once Anakin's- shuffling behind. He tried to get Anakin to turn around, thinking what if Anakin saw his old droids, he'd be so astounded Obi Wan might get to actually wound him, but then Luke appeared and broke off from the others, distracted by the hum of the lightsabers.

Ben watched the action near the ship as he dueled. Luke was frozen in place, like a pillar of fossilized sand. The sharp angles and lines of the smuggler came next, splashing the starkness of the black floors with the reflection of the red bloodstripe on his pants. And near him, soft and small where he was hard and tall, was a flowing vision in white, a young woman. She stopped a moment, her arms spread and palms up, beseeching Luke in a silent plea.

Oh! Obi Wan wished things with Anakin were where they could joke about it together, like they once had, for this was rich. It hadn't been the smuggler doing something stupid and alerting the base to their presence: it had been Luke! He'd learned of the Princess' presence and made the smuggler go and rescue her with him! And now the smuggler was shoving the Princess toward the ramp of his ship, rather roughly, Obi Wan thought, but he understood. It was not a criminal, outlaw gesture, but one of frustration and exasperation. The smuggler had gotten somehow stuck with these two humans, these wonderful Skywalker twins, and he didn't know why he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Obi Wan cast a small smile at Luke. It was nice to know Luke wouldn't be sold to pirates, or caught up in a small-time smuggling career. The plans were safe, and the Princess would know where to bring them. And the smuggler would be a buffer between Luke and Leia as long as needed, until Obi Wan figured out how to return and provide Luke with all the answers he deserved.

So he smiled at Luke, and he stilled his lightsaber, and his last thought was directed to the Force.

"I would have liked a bit more time."


	3. Call It Luck

Of all the goddamned rotten luck-

This was supposed to be about the money. His money, and paying off Jabba, and-

 _I'm not getting paid, am I?_

Han picked up a piece of trash and threw it vaguely in the direction of Chewie, just to shut him up. The big Wook's panicked barks were growing so loud he couldn't think.

Except about the money.

And Alderaan, and he told himself that was not because the Empire was suddenly capable of destroying planets, but because his hard earned credits were floating around somewhere in its rubble, and he needed them.

Really needed them; not just wanted them. This wasn't some get-rich-quick scam where Han deliberately took advantage of an old man. No, he'd told Chewie, his 'greed monster' – stupid Wookiees and their superstitious nature- was not awakened because the old man was crazy enough to overcharge _himself._

Han cursed the old man, somewhere slinking around the Death Star, clean and dry, still owing him fifteen thousand credits, while Han was down here, in a roiling sea of moving trash, stuck with a kid and a princess, both wet and filthy.

And he was most definitely not thinking of the princess and the feverish high spot of color on each cheek, evidence of her suffering here on the Death Star.

He was only standing by her because it was the one plan he came up with. Chewie was too panicked to be of any help, and the kid- Sandwalker, or whatever his name was- was either trying to stop the moving wall with his bare hands, or he was trying to raise the droids on the comm, who seemed to have disappeared. It was really the sole solution, but it wasn't going to do them any good if there weren't any droids to answer the damn comm.

 _If_ he was thinking at all about her, it was whether or not she was rich like the kid alluded. Han kind of doubted it. For one thing, any being so impetuous as to shoot a hole in a wall and jump in without first seeing what was down there obviously spent money like water. He was going to have to get out of here, and he was going to have to come up with another way to get Jabba off his ass.

His plan right now was to keep the Princess atop a heap of garbage, and when the walls got close enough that the heap reached the same height as the hole in the wall of the detention level corridor, she could leap out-

Chewie was making so much damn noise he didn't get much further than that.

And he was thinking what a damn pain in the ass she was, complaining about the rescue and being so superior.

If- _If-_ that hole she blasted led to another orderly corridor, with maybe an unsuspecting officer or two, Han would have been willing to grant her some smarts.

The Princess had slipped from the mound of trash he'd unceremoniously dropped her atop and was scrabbling furiously, grabbing and missing at the pole he'd placed to brace the moving wall, now curved ominously and looking about to snap in two. Her eyes were large, sorry and scared, and he thought he saw her lips move.

Han didn't care. He was outraged, ripped off, and about to die.

Except he was only about to die when he died. That was his motto. He'd come close a few times, and things didn't often go his way, but he'd learned to keep the wild card. He wasn't used to passing it on to others, particularly to a lying farm kid with a pair of droids, but hell, he'd seen stranger things. Chewie might invoke some Wookiee spirit but Han held fast to his luck.

If anything, he told himself as he snarled at the Princess once more, his luck had a funny way of biting him on the ass. He'd probably survive because then Jabba would make the rest of his life miserable.

The kid was shouting into the comm, and the Princess fell off again, and Han saw there wouldn't be enough trash to reach the height of the hole. Damn those Imperials and their efficiency with waste disposal.

There was a great clunking sound, and the filthy brown sludge settled from gripping Han about his thighs. The kid- Luke, Han remembered- screamed again, but he wasn't squeezed or impaled, and the dianaga didn't have hold of him again. Call it what you will, Han's luck, or Luke's thinking, or the just-in-time reaction of the droids, it was hard to believe they were saved.

Han caught movement, and turned to face it. The Princess was coming at him; he thought at first to slug him. He made an effort to not react. Han Solo did a lot of things, but he didn't slug women. Not usually, anyway. Though there'd been a few exceptions.

But no, he realized with surprise. She was going to hug him. It was unexpected, and he wondered what it could mean. She didn't strike him as the type.

Maybe she was asking for forgiveness, for coming up with such a stupid idea. It was lucky for her _he_ didn't slug her, but since he was alive and not currently being shot at, he was feeling generous.

The hug probably was an attempt to soothe, princess to peasant. Or she was congratulating herself. Doubtless with his ironic luck she was offering the hug as a form of payment.

Certainly asking for a hug wasn't his first reaction, but what the hell. He hugged her back. They were both covered in garbage, and they'd been yelling at each other, but he wasn't going to deny her. She was a princess. Han had never hugged a princess before. He liked new experiences. He liked, he would admit, being able to boast about them. Sometimes a reputation was more valuable than credits. His hands might be empty, but they looked full. It was enough. It got him places.

At that he wasn't much of a hugger himself, but her arms were out, her face beaming a smile. He had to admit she looked huggable, her gown wet and dirty. She was closing the distance between them. He thought, why not. She wanted to celebrate. He was pretty damn happy to be alive, too. How else was he to show it- throw trash in the air?

He had thick gloves on. Couldn't feel a damn thing through them, just got the idea of a small frame, feminine and slight. Which is what his eyes had already told him, so he didn't learn anything new. Except she hugged, even people she didn't like.

A serial hugger then. His eyes darted to the kid, lying in the garbage like it was a bathtub, his screams of joy echoing off the walls, slapping the filthy water with the same big gloves. Odds were she had hugged Luke already. When he freed her from the cell, told her it was a rescue, she probably clasped her arms around his neck in gratitude. That explained how she got down the corridor first. The kid looked like he hadn't been hugged by anyone except his mother, and a hug from a grateful young woman, even a quick one, was something different altogether. She left him in a daze.

He watched her carefully after that. A serial hugger- they took any excuse. Joy, hello, solace, goodbye. But she didn't offer anymore. Not to him, anyway, and then they got separated for a bit. Judging by the excited and stupefied look on Luke's face when they found each other again it appeared he'd been on the receiving end of at least one. What the hell? Han had been all over the Death Star, shooting at and getting shot at, and those two were off in some corner hugging? Well, one thing Han Solo did not do was share. Luke could have her. Hugs didn't buy fuel. Hugs didn't pay debts.

He was curious, how she'd take it when he rebuffed another offered hug from her. But he didn't get the chance. The old man got killed, and all hell broke loose. Luke- if it hadn't been for him they could have sneaked on board, taken off- Luke acted like he was going to run _to_ the old man; not away, drag the old man's body away in a cloying embrace.

Troopers were firing at them, thanks to the kid, and Han wasn't about to let him get killed. Not when they were already down one person. And don't forget, Han reminded himself, the kid was the only tie between the Princess and Han's money.

The old man had done his part. "A leaf fallen in winter," Chewie said solemnly. "May he be wrapped in the silk of eternity."

"He's not some moth, Chewie," Han had snapped. But at least the tractor beam was off and they were away from the Death Star. It wasn't over, not by a long shot, but Han was considerably cheered. He was on familiar ground; he knew this fight. The Rebellion, if that was what the Princess was up to- recruiting an old man, even if he did used to be a Jedi, and some nobody kid- was too rich for Han's blood.

He fretted to Chewie about the mark their ship would have in every Imperial port from now on. He'd have to raise his prices. Bribing port authority inspectors was expensive.

Tie fighters were leaving the hangar after them. Only six, which was odd, but the immediate concern was any damage Han's ship would take in return fire.

"Take over," he snapped at his copilot. He trotted to the gun well, muttering to himself that no amount of hugs in the galaxy was enough to make up for the damage his ship was taking.

Entering the lounge, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Luke and the Princess were sitting at the holochess table together, sitting side by side, and she had one arm around Luke's shoulders and the other hand holding his forearm. They were sharing a mournful, unhurried silence. Han's eyes darkened with something he didn't want to analyze.

Sure. Loss. Han Solo got that. The kid was upset. He'd idolized the old man. Prime time for hugging, serial huggers ate it up. Hold on to you long and tight, don't speak.

He separated them. He sent the Princess to the cockpit to be Chewie's copilot. The Wookiee wouldn't need the help but she was an extra pair of hands and eyes. He had Luke take a gun well. "Come on, buddy." _No time for hugging._ "We're not out of this yet."

Chewie told him later, after Han scored a hit on the last Tie fighter, and they were crammed in a maintenance hatch together, trying to cobble the ship so it could at least land somewhere, how the Princess had stretched on her tiptoes and given the Wookiee a great big hug.

"Of course she did," Han sneered at Chewie. "She's a serial hugger."

"What is in your demented brain?" Chewie wanted to know. "She's a Princess."

"A stingy Princess," Han countered. "I'm the one who made the shot. She didn't have one for me. I tell you what she better have: seventeen thousand credits."

"She made no bargain with you," Chewie said sternly. "Money doesn't make up for your perceived slights, you know."

"What slights?" Han demanded, though he felt like knocking the Wookiee over the head with his spanner. "She was the only one who was supposed to die on the Death Star. By execution. Which need I remind you is far pleasanter than being crushed and drowned in garbage. But here she is with us. She owes us something."

"Gratitude is enough for me," Chewie said. "I should like to help them fight the Empire."

"You got a life debt to me," Han said. He didn't often remind the Wookiee of it. It was Chewie who had the big mouth, spouting off about how he was Han's partner and how Han had taught him to fly. Thank goodness hardly anyone understood the Wookiee language. It was enough to ruin one's reputation.

The Princess directed them to rebel headquarters at Yavin, and Han watched sullenly as she was greeted with hugs of consolation and relief.

"They love her," Luke observed.

"They don't love us," Han muttered, and it was true. He and Luke were held back for questioning as their backgrounds were probed.

"Your reputation precedes you," Chewie noted.

"Shut up," Han said.

"I thought you'd be pleased," Chewie said.

Han couldn't say he was surprised, maybe more disappointed: after all, Luke had spent considerable time with him and Chewie, and Han had thought the kid had gained an ounce of self-preservation during their adventure. But he was suited up, ready to fly against the Death Star and die a hero in battle. He hadn't even accepted a single credit. Hadn't even, Chewie told him as they stowed Han's reward- fifteen thousand credits, thank you very much- asked for a cent.

In all the preparation before battle, he was surprised at the quiet voice behind him after he told Chewie to run the preflight.

"Captain Solo."

Han turned, and there stood the Princess, still in the same stained gown, an almost hesitant look on her face. She really didn't have more to offer him, but looking at her he remembered how she felt through his gloves when they hugged. Small, and not at all like a princess. Just- human.

"I hear you'll be on your way," she said.

Han nodded. "That's right," he told her, a little defensively. Luke had already lectured him. "I only signed up to bring the droids. I'm done here."

She nodded. "I understand," she answered like a Princess, which irked Han for some reason. He didn't like talking to princesses. He liked talking to women, and he was getting mixed up. Somehow, instead of seeing a Princess engaged against an Empire he saw a woman named Leia fighting a smuggler, and somehow they were the same thing. He shook himself. She wasn't even acting grateful, just sad.

"No matter what happens," she was saying, "I wanted you to have our thanks." And she turned away, and didn't offer Han a hug.

Later, Chewie was waiting for Han to give the signal to hit the hyperdrive. "You got your payday," he nudged Han, trying to bring him out of an unusual moment of reflection.

Han, who was watching out the cockpit window as the Death Star loomed into view and the first X-wing fighters became casualties, thought of the stupid lying farm boy who'd tricked him into rescuing a princess. And he thought of the slight woman who also watched from the moon, who was smart, and generous, and who made his arms ache from emptiness for the first time in his life.

"Turn her around, Chewie," Han directed his copilot. "I got a better payday in mind."


	4. Technological Terror

Darth Vader strode down to the hangar to view the captured freighter. Even here he could feel the Death Star's giant reactor core, like a pulse, through his boots. Quiet fell in his wake. It was always quiet where he was. He had that effect. Only the steady drone of his breathing filled the spaces where there should be noise. _Pow-er_ , his respirator suit declared. _Pow-er._

He was thinking about Tatooine, and coincidence, and subconsciously he knew where he was. The Death Star, though he'd never been aboard before he took the Princess prisoner, was familiar, in a vague and impossible way. He let his mind wander, let the Force in.

It rarely had anything to tell Darth Vader anymore, and he was mildly interested. It was the same, day in and day out. Powerful was all he was, and this was affirmed with each breath from the respirator suit. _Pow-er._

Power was earned through control. And that was what the dark side of the Force finally brought him. His eruptions of uncontrollable anger when he was with the Jedi had tempered to an unemotional calm. Death still followed him, but he killed now to teach and to discipline.

Darth Vader had no reason to think anymore. No reason to sleep either, and moments stretched infinitely ahead. He had the sound of his breathing, _pow-er,_ to remind him- of everything. The suit never let him forget, as did the Emperor. The power was theirs.

If he could banish memory. Ah, now that was true power.

This was for him. Private. The Emperor made war and Tarkin was after the plans, but this ship, and the Princess, and finally the Force, touching him quietly, like a worried mother, concerned only him. On this Death Star he felt- woken. Not really excited, but stirred. He actually looked forward to what would come next. It was unclear, as it should be, but he was willing to take the chance.

He sensed a great danger, to himself, and was curious. Nothing near a threat had come near him for nineteen years. Not a breeze, a taste, a breath.

Nineteen years and he didn't let himself think of it, joyless and bored, but suddenly he longed and with painful clarity saw he was starving.

 _Pow-er._

Dimly, he could remember succumbing to the dark side, his last moments as a man. He could remember his master Palpatine, now Emperor, ruler of the galaxy, promising him the mysteries of the Force. Vader remembered feeling desperate and afraid, then excited, and then he was overcome with a heady, lustful rush of strength, and that was all he remembered.

A second fall. He could blame Obi Wan for it but he didn't. Obi Wan was trying to bring him back to his senses, fighting because he was told to, talking as a friend and mentor. Darth Vader, from the distance of hindsight, understood this. Obi Wan had never turned from him, even when Vader was lost.

But it was his mistake. If Obi Wan had done as he was told, if he'd killed Vader as he was supposed to, the galaxy wouldn't be in such a mess.

And Darth Vader wouldn't be trapped in this respirator suit.

His resentment bit with less surprise lately, and he took a moment to let it fester. He didn't care if the Emperor sensed it.

The ship was antiquated. Even from the outside she looked lived in. Battered, but cared for. As a boy on Tatooine he'd seen numerous like her come and go. As machines they always held an appeal; it was the beings inside them that colored his youth with disappointment.

The pilot couldn't do enough for her, Vader reflected. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He didn't have the means. Sometimes even love was neglect.

What? Vader snapped to himself. He never stooped to commentate. It was a waste of time. He acted. But he would make sure the pilot knew the ship was taken before Vader killed him. He should have a different kind of pain. He made a note of her registration. _The Millennium Falcon._

The Death Star hummed and Vader jerked his helmet, as if a gnat had gotten too close. _Our,_ his breathing rasped. _Our._

Vader didn't like the Death Star, and that was something else he preferred to keep private, even from his master.

Perhaps he was jealous of it. It was big, like him- bigger, even, and powerful, too; the Emperor's brain child, and in concept so unnatural it was beyond the Force.

But the Force was here, somehow. Not in any of the men it took to run her- no, he and Palpatine had made sure the Force was eliminated in her ranks.

 _Our,_ and Vader looked around, testing to see if the men had noticed a difference. It was impossible to tell, with faces covered by stormtrooper helmets and bodies rigid and straight.

He was on a ship one time, he remembered, a beautiful Nubian, and there were masters on either side of him, past and present. With a note of pride he saw himself shaking Obi Wan's hand. _I was the future._

The Force veered off in different directions, like two paths. Ageless, but one was old, the other-

Obi Wan. That was what he knew here, on the Death Star. His old master.

Obi Wan hadn't come for Vader. He came for-

To die. For the Force.

The Force had no future. Why the danger then? From-

The future. Someone else possessed the Force.

But it was pure, and good, and young, so young. Vader didn't see the danger.

 _Our._

He went to view the security footage, and felt the officer's behind him squirm. How many stormtroopers had they gotten by without being stopped? Vader shook his head. The lax in protocol was astounding. The Imperial Navy was practically giving the Alliance victory! If he Force choked them all to punish he and Tarkin would be operating this Death Star by themselves. He would deal with this later.

The cameras were set far away from the _Millennium Falcon,_ but soon enough near the lifts they all could see the grainy figures of a group. Two in white, stormtroopers, an aged man in a shabby robe, a Wookiee, and mixed among them Vader could barely make out the shuffling gold foot of a droid and one that rolled. He dismissed them all, staring at the man. Obi Wan?

Nineteen years of the dark side of the Force spent in a respirator suit, nineteen years without the Force spent in-

On Tatooine.

-regret.

Barely a man, scrawny and all Adam's apple, Obi Wan, cheerful and friendly, on Tatooine, with-

Dare he think it?

\- him.

Had Obi Wan been waiting? Honoring his memory?

Hiding. On _Tatooine._

There was a reason for this, as absurd as it was, and Vader moved to the security footage of the detention cell blocks. Two men, their faces freed from the helmets, and a Wookiee. Young men. The cameras were going out one by one; the men were shooting them, Vader presumed, while the Wookiee pretended to go beserk. Quickly, before there wasn't an image left, Vader targeted the taller man, because his movements were more sure, his aim a little better. Was it him? Was the Force-

Like the ship, some care, but not enough. Too long ago that he'd had a decent meal, a decent haircut. Tall, old enough to know better but still young enough not to listen. A lightness about him, in him, shaded and darkening. A fighter, but scrappy, on the offensive.

Three cameras left, and Vader had to know.

This one- this one? The Force predicted this one-

It was laughable, but two cameras left and Vader couldn't take his eyes off the boy. A boy, merely a boy. Shaggy, overwhelmed, hopeful.

One camera. Wait! Vader ground out between clenched jaws. Let me see-

Sandy colored hair. Tatooine. The foot wear, the tunic. He listened, but too, he led. "... this Princess of yours," the dark haired man could be heard to say. Hope, and truth, and-

The Wookiee shot the last camera.

Tatooine, Vader told himself. The Princess was on her way there, but Vader had intercepted her before she could land. Did she know-

There was something Vader needed to know from the Princess. Tarkin wanted to see her anyway. He lorded over the Death Star from his straight-backed chair, certain the Princess would break, but Vader was not so sure. He thought it a mistake to bring her here. Her presence meant something to the Death Star, to the Empire. The Force was stirring.

She had such youth, and great conviction. Time had passed, Vader thought to remind his master the Emperor, and the resistance had spread to a new generation. The boy, and the Princess. She was indeed young; younger than the Empire itself, and yet she possessed not a single Imperial value.

How had this happened? With the dark side of the Force on the Emperor's and Vader's side, still- _still-_ they had not accomplished their goal of peace and power?

But that had been the Emperor's goal. Vader's, and the reason for his fall, was the Force. He had been promised more than power. The Emperor had promised him life.

 _Our._ Vader stomped towards the Princess's cell. Servant and master? He felt a fresh anger and wished he didn't, for the Emperor would sigh with pleasure, sensing from afar how Vader replenished the dark side of the Force.

He had watched earlier as the Princess struggled against the effects of the needle from the mind probe. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was twisted. He had noted her youth and her beauty, and the luxuriant hair, shining with health, and he wondered what color her eyes were. Tarkin wanted to know what she'd done with the plans and the Emperor sought where the Rebel Alliance was hidden, but Vader asked her nothing. She was bigger than they were, he thought, and so was he.

The mind probe's needle retracted and it hovered in place for a moment, reassessing. The Princess slumped forward a bit, panting.

"Pain is ugly," he told her, because she was beautiful and perhaps the knowledge of what torture did to her would weaken her.

But it hadn't. "Repeat," he directed the mind probe, but he hadn't stayed to watch.

This time as he whisked into her cell he was pleased to note she shrank a little against the wall.

He pushed into her mind with the Force, and her eyes- they were brown- were alarmed and stubborn.

"Why Tatooine?" he asked in her head, searching for the connection. She found him huge and repugnant and all she could hear was _pow-er, pow-er._ Wasn't that it?

 _Our._ And he suddenly thought, feeling smaller, a man in a suit: I shouldn't have left my mother all those years ago _._

Startled, he shifted position and focused on the Princess. "Why Tatooine?" he said again, this time out loud. The menacing bass of his simulated voice returned him to himself. The jump from a Princess in pain to his mother took him completely by surprise. Where had that come from?

From her. No. That couldn't be right. The _Tantive IV_ was over Tatooine when he boarded her, that's why. He watched the planet, angry, like a third eye, grow closer from the bridge of his own ship as he chased hers. And she had sent the plans, downloaded inside a pair of droids, off in an escape pod, which landed in the desert.

Vader was very familiar with the planet, of course. The last time he had been there was when his mother died...

Had she-

This was a brilliant strategy.

-been trained?

The Rebel Alliance deserved his congratulations. All he pulled from her was two statements, repeating constantly and unerringly, like his breathing. _I love my mother. I love my father._

These were truths that couldn't be broken or changed. He wanted to dislike her, but she deserved his admiration. No one else had ever accomplished what she had.

There was her mother the queen, far from harm, because she was dead. The sentence _I love my mother_ was simple, innocent even; but she did not sound like a child. Over and over, the Princess repeated her love, her mind stubborn, and Vader found himself asking how he had let his mother die.

He had been a boy once and though he'd been a slave and she was a Princess the love for the mother was the same. And the Jedi had taken him from her and that's why he hunted them down. It was easy to kill them when he thought that. It was easy, when the old Jedi tests were still used to identify those children with Force potential, easy to take them from their mothers and send them to the mines.

The Princess would reveal nothing, Vader already knew that. He considered killing her right now, because he was nothing if not efficient, and it was a waste of time- even a waste of pain- to continue the torture and he hated for her to endure what Tarkin planned.

But there was no stopping it. Someone- whether the Emperor himself, or the Princess, maybe Obi Wan- someone had started events in motion and now there was no stopping the Force.

"May the Force be with us," the Princess chanted as if to grab each life extinguished by the Death Star. "May the Force be with us."

"It already is," he answered her.

"Not for you," she shot back, her face very pale but something in those eyes.

"Perhaps you are right." Vader made a polite bow and she went back to counting lives.

He was escorting her back to her cell. She wouldn't talk to him so he wouldn't tell her of the rescue party, but he didn't want her to be alone. He was feeling a bit nauseous himself after Alderaan's destruction. The Death Star was indeed Force-less. The Emperor was becoming increasingly so as well, and Vader accepted the Force's message. The door to learning the mysteries of the Force from Palpatine was closed forever. _Po-wer_ was a lie.

Perhaps this is why the Force sent Obi Wan to him.

Scrawny, Adam's apple Obi Wan, imminently cheerful, shone out of the gray hair and the ash burnt robe he'd worn on their last encounter nineteen years ago. He called Vader 'Darth', as if it was his name.

So Anakin was still lost to him, and that pissed Vader off, for wasn't he standing in front of him, ready to do Obi Wan's bidding?

"You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

The arena where they fought was too public. Vader wanted to know about Tatooine, and the boy, but Obi Wan caught the attention of the storm troopers, who unsurprisedly left their posts and came to watch two antique lightsabers in action.

Obi Wan didn't put a lot of effort into their duel. Vader was rather disappointed. Obi Wan's victory nineteen years ago had been Vader's own fault: the foolishness of youth and power he hadn't taken the time to understand was his own undoing.

But suddenly the moment was here. Obi Wan gave a little smile and held his saber up near his face, illuminating the age lines blue, and Vader, suddenly nervous, struck.

There was a scream, and blaster fire erupted, and Obi Wan was- gone. Completely. Vader stepped on the brown robes to be sure, and only the floor could be felt through them.

Dismayed, he stood there a moment, his red saber held downwards.

How? _How?_ Had Tatooine done this? Nineteen years in hiding without the Force and Obi Wan knew more about the Force than he, Darth Vader knew? Obi Wan could transcend death?

Vader looked up, murderous fury in his eye for every trooper that entertained themselves watching.

But the boy! The troopers were engaging fire with him, though he didn't return it and just stood there. The other man- he had the Princess with him; so they were successful after all- he was returning fire, and both were shouting. Vader hadn't seen the Wookiee, but the engines roared to life so he must have sneaked on board when Vader wasn't looking.

The boy had seen! He knew it, too. Oh, Vader felt a fresh envy. His early lessons, and to see this! He moved forward, to get the boy but the other man, the pilot, shouted out, "Shoot the door, kid!" and that was Vader's last view of him. A determined, focused anger fell over his face and the boy finally raised his blaster and hit his target on the first shot.

Kid. The pilot hadn't even used his name.


	5. Our Lot in Life

Industrial Automaton Industries company slogan was "Life is a ship and we are her passengers. Be sure to carry an astromech!"

C-3PO assured R2D2 it was clever. "It suggests a droid can navigate the difficulties faced by sentient being," the protocol droid explained. "Matters of the heart and such. It's ridiculous, of course. What would you know about family?"

R2 units were programmed to be plucky and resourceful, and R2D2 was no exception. His numerous human owners had always prized his service. He moved forward, in the present; linearly, stowing the memory of a previous owner in his hard drive, never to consider them again, and his only concept of Time was in the duration of a trip.

Until Princess Leia sent him to Tatooine to find General Kenobi, a place and man he'd known earlier, and he saw if he read the data differently it was also true his history formed a circuit. Like a current, time flowed in a path, always leading back to the beginning.

R2D2 was just a droid. He knew he'd been manufactured. There had never been a reason to cause him to think beyond the sentient beings who were responsible for him standing here, that there was something beyond them. Maybe they were the same as him, observers and not true participants. Maybe something had made them.

He had it in him. Like a power, he was the one to say how, and who and what. Princess Leia's theft, Obi Wan Kenobi's lie, this Death Star. Except when he spoke, he beeped and whistled. It was like a curse, to speak the truth but never be understood. C-3PO was always along to translate, but Bail Organa had ordered a mindwipe of the protocol droid nineteen years ago, and he not only remembered nothing of the story, he also rejected any later mention of it.

R2D2 tried. During the descent to Tatooine in the escape pod, when C-3PO commented on the damage Princess Leia's ship sustained and how extensive the range of sand on the planet was, R2 informed him, "You've been here before."

"Of course you made that up, R2," C-3PO scoffed. "Of what use could a protocol droid be on a planet such as this?"

"You were made here." R2 hadn't seen a need either for a protocol droid in the home of a slave mother and her son, but the boy was remarkable, with an aptitude for mechanics, and he built C-3PO with what he could find. The first time R2 met the droid, he was already arrogant and fearful, a mirror of the boy who programmed him.

"I believe the heat has gotten to you already! Have you no insulation?"

And when, after a series of random misadventures that wound them both up at the same moisture farm of two and a half decades ago- out of the entire planet, when he was in the canyons heading for the Judland Wastes, the _same_ moisture farm, the one with Owen Lars and the grave of Shmi Skywalker- R2 had tried to save the humans.

Maybe the heat had gotten to him, for two Own Lars shimmered before him: an Owen young and untroubled, except for the loss of his stepmother, and another Owen, this one called Uncle, gruff and preoccupied.

"What about that one?" Owen Lars had pointed to R2D2 to replace the damaged red droid he'd purchased.

"We are wanted by the Empire," R2 announced with urgent whistles to Owen and his nephew, Luke, a sandy-haired youth. "I have a mission. And I fear you are in terrible danger if you keep us."

"Mission? What mission?" C-3PO had snapped instead of explaining to Owen Lars the sudden spate of urgent beeping.

Later, Master Luke managed to stumble upon the holomessage Princess Leia had recorded. R2 barely managed to lock it down before he viewed the rest. R2 could set events in motion, but he wasn't sure it was up to him. He was just a droid. An observer, not a participant. "Who is she?" Luke mused. "She's beautiful."

"She's your twin sister," R2 beeped carefully, his photoreceptors aimed at C-3PO.

The golden protocol droid stared at R2 vacantly, and didn't insult him, and R2 worried for a moment the fact was too large to be rejected and would overload C-3PO's circuits, but he informed Master Luke haltingly, "I am not sure, sir. A person of some significance, I think."

"How can you not know Princess Leia!" R2 shouted in a shrill whistle. "We just left her aboard the _Tantive IV!_ Darth Vader was about to board!"

"I'm not much good at telling stories," C-3PO apologized, and R2 blew a raspberry at him.

When he did manage to run away, it was at great personal risk to Master Luke, which R2 had not intended. While Master Luke was still unconscious, Obi Wan Kenobi had lowered his hood and greeted R2D2.

"Hello there," he said. And in his wry, veiled way of speaking, which had never changed, he added, "You've had a busy day."

It was actually twenty-five years, but R2 took it to mean that the droid's unexpected presence had transported Kenobi in a flash, to a memory of when he was young and full of promise, shaking hands with a boy of even greater promise.

It was heartening that Obi Wan recognized him, and that his memory was intact, for he was greatly changed. Or perhaps stuck in time; R2D2 always got those confused. R2 recognized the robe. The blackened holes were a bit larger than when they first appeared. His hair had gone gray, and his eyes, once careful and observant, were now simply weary. R2 whistled in concern.

"Oh, he'll be alright," Kenobi shifted the droid's concern over to Master Luke, who was stirring.

And he told Master Luke, who told the aged man he'd never known such loyalty in a droid, "I don't remember ever owning a droid."

This wasn't a lie, necessarily. General Kenobi had paired with droids only when he needed a navigator. He didn't find them as useful as Anakin Skywalker had, who had asked R2D2 to accompany him most places.

R2 decided to wait the general out. Perhaps he was on a mission too, and he couldn't reveal it to Master Luke.

R2D2 reminded himself to heed the difference between humans and droids. Humans didn't reason; they thought; ideas stemming from emotions and dreams; the unreal, the untouchable. They didn't function. They didn't power on after a period of rest, like droids did. They woke up and ate and dressed- covering their form in color and texture and design- and they fought and loved and sang and danced.

And humans weren't reliable. They changed.

Obi Wan talked to Master Luke of Anakin Skywalker. Things R2D2 remembered well of his former owner. Obi Wan was wistful, in a mood C-3PO would describe as melancholy. But then he said something which meant nothing to C-3PO, but blared in flashing error to R2D2: "Darth Vader betrayed, and murdered your father."

R2 had whistled, offering to correct the former Jedi general.

There had never been a Darth Vader. Not that R2D2 knew of. There was now, but not then- his was the ship that took over the Princess's. He was the primary symbol of all that was wrong with the Empire, and the young, beings like Princess Leia and Luke, were growing in number to rise up and resist.

R2 addressed Obi Wan Kenobi personally, because theirs was a long acquaintance, and it seemed he might understand the binary code language. "Why don't you tell Master Luke the truth? You left Anakin Skywalker behind on Mustafar." But the old man stared at a wall, lost in thought.

Princess Leia had done something, set off some kind of spark. She had stolen from the Empire, and sent R2 back in time. He might never see Princess Leia again, but here was Tatooine, then and again. Somewhere, Owen and Beru Lars fizzled out cruelly, their charred remains disqualifying all they had done for Luke, leading him to Obi Wan, the Princess connecting them with her holomessage.

R2D2 did not know his part. Neither did Master Luke. But where he knew two Owen Lars, two Obi Wan Kenobis, even different C-3POs on Tatooine- the raw and unfinished one, or the gleaming and polished one, even the one now, diminished and dented, there was only one Master Luke.

Still a youth, somewhat incomplete, but growing. His connection to Obi Wan was a thread, but he'd been reeled in, like a spider and its prey. The hermit Ben revealed his past, and now Master Luke was wrapped up in it. His uncle was dead, he had taken his father's lightsaber, and he had accepted the Force.

Obi Wan Kenobi arranged for them to leave the planet so they could bring what was stored inside R2D2 to Alderaan. The ship he charted was in docking bay 94, and while to a dismayed Master Luke the freighter was junk, R2 noted with the critical eye of an astromech the ship had muscle.

Cosmetically, the _Millennium Falcon_ was a wreck. There was even a hole in the hull behind where the captain stood, and instead of working on that he was, for some reason, polishing the metal of the thrusters with a tiny cloth. R2 had never polished anything in his entire career as an astromech. It was interesting. The man- older than Master Luke but not near as old as Obi Wan, was rangy and loose and not impressed by anything.

"Hello, sir," C-3PO greeted him upon boarding, and the man rolled his eyes and walked away.

This was a different sort of human than R2 was used to dealing with, but he was here, so he must serve a purpose. Han Solo was his name, and R2 committed it to his files so he would have it for posterity. There was no connection that R2 could find. Unless it was through the Wookiee copilot Chewbacca. The being's history went back a long way, longer than R2 even. It was the Wookiee Obi Wan had approached in the cantina, and R2 postulated that's what the old Jedi was seeking: someone who remembered a time before the Empire.

R2 beeped at the captain merrily after he rebuffed C-3PO. "I hope you're up for this," he called out. "You're in whether you like it or not. Do us right and maybe you'll see it through to the end."

Obi Wan and Master Luke didn't associate much with the crew. They both seemed to think the captain was reckless and either defensive or foolish, but R2 rolled around taking in the improvements the Wookiee and human had made to the freighter. And mostly, he learned, without the help of a droid crew!

It was during the flight they learned what the Death Star was capable of doing. Captain Solo didn't want to believe the Empire could destroy a planet, but there was no denying Alderaan was gone. R2 wondered about the Princess. Had she known the Empire used their Death Star against her homeworld?

He took a moment, since he had Time now. Bail Organa was dead, with Alderaan. But there was a time, when his beard was dark and tidy, and he decided to fly back to Alderaan at the collapse of the Republic. He and a newborn baby girl were the only passengers, and he kept the baby bundled on a blanket on his lap, his gaze concentrated on her.

"Who knew," Bail Organa said, raising his eyes fleetingly and finding only an audience of two droids, "Who knew the death of the Republic would make me a father?"

R2 wouldn't get to deliver the Princess's last message to him. "I was so close, R2," she had confided after she sent her crew to arms to buy her some time to hide the stolen plans. "Tell my father I'm sorry."

The pilot, stubborn and-R2 didn't know what. Maybe C-3PO would have a better description- he was vengeful, or territorial, or shortsighted; he chased a Tie fighter.

"Best let him go," Obi Wan Kenobi advised.

R2 beeped, "What else is there to do? No Alderaan, no Rebellion." Something was at work here. _Life is a ship, and we are her passengers._ And R2 was an astromech. "We came to the _Lars_ _farm_ ," he emphasized. "Don't you see? And now we have Master Luke. None of you want the Death Star. You're all scared of it. But it wants you. Let him chase the Tie. It's how we'll get there."

No one listened. "Why are we still moving closer?" Master Luke demanded in a wail.

"Ach, we're caught in a tractor beam," the pilot said, disgusted with himself.

"It's okay," R2 whistled soothingly. A long time ago, he started to tell a story for the pilot, but the man was too busy telling everyone where to hide, a little boy was certain there was a reason the Jedi came to Tatooine. To free the slaves, he thought, but he was wrong. The little boy, Anakin Skywalker, was the only one freed.

It turned out the pilot was also a smuggler and criminal, and R2D2 thought these qualities, while unlikable, were necessary. Captain Solo did not act like he was willing to become part of this tale of Jedi and princess and planets, but it was too late. He could kill where Master Luke could not and Kenobi would not, and he led them to the communications control room, he and Master Luke wearing stormtrooper uniforms they had stripped from the bodies of the two that entered the freighter.

They locked themselves in the room and R2 inserted his port arm in a computer terminal. Captain Solo and Luke continued to bicker uselessly behind him but he paid them no attention.

Screens flashed rapidly. This sitemap of the Death Star was a duplicate, R2 realized, of what the Princess had downloaded in him.

R2's search informed him Darth Vader was also aboard the Death Star. He was not surprised; in fact he expected it. Logic told him it was no accident the _Millennium Falcon's_ pilot ran them unnecessarily smack into a tractor beam.

He spoke up, beeping and whistling. "The two in stormtrooper uniforms can move about the Death Star unchallenged. It will be easy to disable the tractor beam. There are seven locations where it can be done."

He highlighted the locations for the humans, while C-3PO indicated the points on the map, hardly bothering to correctly translate. R2 was expecting Master Luke and Captain Solo to put their helmets back on when Obi Wan Kenobi said quite seriously "I must go alone."

Two Obi Wans. R2 could make no sense of Kenobi's tale to Master Luke. It simply wasn't true. Unless...

Were there two Anakin Skywalkers? One who was afraid and powerful, and the other who used power to end his fears?

Obi Wan Kenobi didn't mourn his friend, R2 realized. He mourned what he'd become. And he couldn't resist meeting him on the Death Star. Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were one and the same.

The reason for Obi Wan Kenobi's presence on Tatooine became clear. R2 whistled sympathetically.

He reinserted his port arm, considering. So many names in this long narrative were just that, names. People gone, dead. Owen Lars. Bail Organa. Princess Leia.

"I know who her father is," R2 whistled of the Princess.

"Anyone with access to the holoweb knows Viceroy Organa is the Princess Leia's father," C-3PO huffed.

"And I know who his is," R2 beeped softly about Master Luke.

"Sometimes I wonder where you get your information, R2D2."

R2 wished he had someone to share all this information with. If he could describe what it felt like, he would say it was lonely. "One of our group won't leave here," R2 suddenly knew.

"Oh, dear. I do hope it's not Master Luke."

There would be two Master Lukes. The one now was earnest and not as impressionable as he was moments ago. He had no sense of duty, like Obi Wan Kenobi or the Princess. He wanted adventure and he wanted to be better.

R2 searched for Princess Leia's name. He wanted to record how her life had ended, for posterity, much as he needed the captain's name.

He beeped in amazement. "C-3PO," R2 was so excited he began to rock on his legs, "tell Master Luke Princess Leia is here, on the Death Star. She was interrogated and tortured, but she's alive! She's on level five, the detention level. Cell 2187. Tell him to hurry! She's scheduled for execution!"

That's why they were here. Princess Leia sent R2 to Tatooine to meet Obi Wan Kenobi, but she didn't know the real reason was to bring Luke Skywalker into the story. And now the real reason they were on the Death Star became clear. It was for the Princess.

Master Luke still did not know his part. But R2D2 did. And he knew the pilot's, and the Princess's. He had been working in the past, but Obi Wan Kenobi's death would free them all, and the future stretched before them.


	6. First Mate

Birds dropped seeds. And vines sent out feelers, looking to grab onto something, to grow.

Nature explained everything, Chewie thought.

The humans were grooming themselves. The fur of Chewie's own legs needed tending, but Wookiees didn't groom until the battle was over. He'd seen this behavior in humans before, so he was patient.

He stood, sludgy water dripping in a puddle from the fur around his ankles onto the immaculately polished tile floor of Death Star. It gave Chewie a vengeful satisfaction to see it. The puddle was gritty and nasty and- real. That's what was wrong with the Empire, Chewie thought. It believed it could distance itself from the harm it caused. A shiny, efficient place like the Death Star could destroy a whole planet and not show any blood.

There should be blood.

But too it was the kind of place where a being, if they rose to the challenge, could show their true worth and purpose. The Princess had done so, imprisoned and tortured for stealing the Death Star plans. The Death Star took her homeworld- more than that, Chewie figured- but she had held on to the fight and the Rebellion was sure to grow because of it.

Her back was turned to the men, as if she needed the privacy, and she was was rearranging hair pins and recapturing loose strands of hair, tucking them back into the rolled buns over her ears.

And Luke, who when he boarded the _Falcon_ put Tatooine behind him, who was a little lost, but receptive too, bringing nothing but a poncho and his father's lightsaber. And now he could say he was trying to be a hero, which was all that he ever wanted to say.

It was all Luke's idea to help the Princess, but he was subdued right now, using his dirty fingers to comb his wet hair back. Embarrassed, Chewie thought, at how badly the rescue effort had gone and how quickly the Princess dictated her own rescue.

Ben Kenobi was the bird, flown off to leave these three humans to find their own way.

And Han-

He was the only one not fooling with his hair. Chewie wondered what that said about him. Instead his partner was examining the stormtrooper belt, deciding on whether to keep it.

Chewie's thoughts broke off as something made a noise on the other side of the maintenance hatch. It might be that creature that had tried to drown Luke. It slithered and swam, and they hadn't closed the hatch.

He'd come close to a panic in the garbage masher. That thing slithering unseen around his ankles must truly be a spirit monster, for what could subsist on a battle station's refuse deep in space? He was a little ashamed now, standing out in the sterile hallway, the quiet efficiency of the Death Star calling him out, but they had left the hatch open. Could it come out to the hallway?

Chewie was not going to risk being snatched under the garbage. He would much rather face any stormtrooper with their blaster. He walked away from the wall, trying to look casual, but his shoulders were hunched.

Han didn't miss a thing. It's one reason he had lasted as long as he did. Han called it luck, which Chewie knew nothing of. But if luck involved observation and snap decisions, then Han was a lucky man.

"Where are you going?" Han demanded, having observed Chewie slink away. He sounded irritated; he was kicking himself, no doubt, that he had let a farm hand talk him into some hare-brained scheme. The problem with Han was he talked too much. He would blame everyone and everything: the old man, for paying more than he should for the charter; Luke, for enticing Han's greed, the Princess, for being rich and in trouble. Even Alderaan, for being destroyed.

Han fired his blaster into the compactor with an annoyed, aimless blast. "Come here, you big coward!"

Today might be the day Chewie paid off the life debt. He would do it, of course, if that's what it amounted to, and he hoped Han remembered he wasn't a coward. But it was safe to say he was more than reluctant. He wished he could sweep up the Princess and Luke too, and when he saw them to safety he would take the old man's lightsaber and crack it over Han Solo's stubborn head.

He glanced at his partner, who was presently being told off by the honorable and strong Princess. If he could convince Han to fight...

Han would let him transfer the debt. He didn't want it. _Just tell' em you found something_ _better._

Was the Princess better? Not really. Honor was honor. She just knew who she was. That was the main difference; she wasn't floundering. She fought against the Empire because it made her mad that it revoked civil liberty and a tyrant ruled the entire galaxy. Han never got past what the Empire had done to _him._

For some reason Han Solo thought it best if, from time to time, he threw his life his life away. Chewie hadn't quite figured it out. He thought it had something to do with Han trying not to get involved, trying to stay unattached. But then he would sort of snap, maybe because humans are the type of beings who need; not things but each other, and Han was only human, and attachment or involvement became something even deeper, something Chewie would call commitment. And- Chewie thought maybe this is what luck was- his life got thrown back at him, with gifts, wanted or not. The life debt. And the scar on his chin, among a few others.

So far, Han had managed to hold on to his life, and now Chewie saw it as his job to make sure Han lasted a bit longer. Some things were worth dying for, like slavery; a crime lord Hutt was not one of those things.

It was a little disturbing; they were stuck on this Death Star and Chewie noticed Han was doing his best to resist Luke and the Princess. Especially her; he was trying not to look at her as anything more than a reward, though she had spontaneously hugged him when the compactor walls stopped moving. If he was entertaining any thoughts of leaving without them, Chewie decided he would tie him up and sling him over his shoulder, letting Luke and the Princess the first ones up the ramp.

Chewie had spent a long time observing his partner. Maybe he was lucky, too.

Both Luke and Han had shed the stormtrooper uniforms they used as disguises. The empty husks of the former inhabitants were discarded on the floor, reminding Chewie of beetle larva molting their first skin.

The creepy imitation of life was the stuff of nightmares. "Put them back on," Chewie advised superstitiously. He wouldn't be at all surprised if the white duroplast body armor got up and chased them. He covered his fear with reason. "You're anonymous under them."

"They're filthy," Han said. "Won't pass inspection."

"Like you'd show up for inspection," Chewie retorted. "Find a 'fresher and clean them. We're still many levels up from the hangar."

Han decided on the belt and clasped it around his hips. "Well," he in a tone both biting and snide, "if we can avoid any more female advice, we ought to be able to get out of here."

They should groom each other, Chewie reflected, as Wookiees would. They would be ready to move on quicker, and they would feel more of a bond with each other. But no, each was off by themselves, lost in their own world.

Humans were an odd bunch. Their own thoughts took up a lot of space. It was because their lifspan was so short. All they thought about was death and how to live beyond it. The Princess might be thinking of the plans she stowed in the droid, now wandering around the Death Star unchaperoned. Luke's thoughts would drift to Ben, who was also somewhere above or below them, disabling the tractor beam. And Han would be wondering about the hug the Princess gave him in the garbage masher.

Chewie was young for a Wookiee, ancient compared to a human, and he still had many centuries of life to look forward to, if Han Solo didn't settle down soon. More had happened to him in the last ten years than in his first hundred. He didn't know if it was freedom or his partner, but life suddenly started to speed forward, crammed with detail and experience. But old among these humans he felt young.

Ben Kenobi, though he did not have as many years as Chewbacca, was the eldest of the bunch, the closest to a natural death. And he had insisted on going off alone, and he told Luke the Force would always be with him. It was his farewell. Among Wookiees, death was a solitary experience. If one sensed it, they found a place away from the others. Strange, why he wanted to die on this Death Star.

A little too soon, Chewie thought. He felt nostalgic. He had more in common with Kenobi than he did with Han. Kenobi was a gracious soul. Both he and Chewie lived the bulk of their lives under the Republic, and struggled to find a safe place in the disruption that was the Galactic Empire. Chewie had been taken into slavery, and Kenobi, a Jedi, was forced into hiding.

Chewie had served with the Jedi during the Clone Wars. It was a damn shame the Emperor had ordered their massacre. But in the cantina, looking to hire a ship, Chewie had no idea of Ben's innate power. He was mild, and gentle even, but not at all taken aback by the decrepitude of the patrons. "Excuse me," he'd said politely to Chewie after an idiot threw the boy Luke across the room. And then he had sliced the offender's arm off with the lightsaber.

A Jedi! They were supposed to be dead, hunted down systematically by Darth Vader. "He missed one," was Han's response when Chewie told him.

Chewie warned the old man, who appeared to understand the Wookiee language, that his partner was likely to say no. "He prefers to transport things rather than beings. He says they complicate things. Let him overcharge you."

The Jedi had inclined his head with an appreciative smile. "Thank you for the tip."

The humans filed past him. The Princess called Chewie a walking carpet, which didn't bother him. He enjoyed seeing her spirit flare, for during quieter moments, such as fixing her hair, it was obvious what a toll her imprisonment had taken.

He smacked his lips in admiration thinking how much the Princess had risked to fight the Empire. Chewbacca was- not glad to be here; he would much rather have proceeded as they should have to Alderaan- but glad to have met the Princess and rescued her from execution. Apparently she was arrested for treason. The translator droid, the annoying one, had mentioned she was with the Rebellion.

Han trailed after the Princess, comically dazed and muttering about the reward. Luke was pretending not to listen, craning his head past Chewie to watch for danger.

Chewie snorted. "Look sharp," he reminded his partner. "Luke's the only one working."

And like vines the three came together, walking in a tight huddle and protecting one another. If they survived, Chewie thought, guarding the huddle, Luke would have no one to teach him the ways of the Force. Han would get his reward, the Princess her war, but Luke?

Maybe Chewie was wrong; maybe Kenobi would survive the Death Star. But if he wasn't... He would talk to Han later, he decided. After Han felt fat and satisfied with his reward, like from a good meal, he might feel generous enough to throw Luke something. If it didn't cost Han anything, he would do it.

They made it to a window which overlooked the hangar. Luke and the Princess rushed to it while Chewie and Han stood lookout.

Han was tall enough to see a portion of the _Millennium Falcon_ out the window. "There she is," Han announced of his pride and joy. The ship was directly below them, under a heavy guard. Luke managed to comm the droids, who were also close by. There was no sign of Ben.

The Princess reached out to touch Han on his upper arm, and Chewie thought again of the wisdom of nature. She was a Princess, and she had a war, but she would wither and die if she didn't get something else. "You came in that?" she asked slyly. "You're braver than I thought."

Oh, she thought she was being funny and insulting and for the first time there was something in her eyes, something that took her out from the Death Star and showed the kind of person she was before the Empire made her a prisoner. Chewie was gratified to see it. Han was too. It was better than the hug probably. That most likely had confused him. She was so smart! She elevated his status the same time she kept him small, and he ate up every word of it.

"Nice," he snapped out his only comeback, and ran off. Chewie followed.

They rounded a corner. The Princess was adjusting the neck of her gown. Eight stormtroopers came around the same corner from the opposite direction. For a moment, everything froze. Chewie remembered seeing the Princess's hands fly up in alarm, but she was unarmed.

It was the perfect set up for Han. Everyone here had scolded him for his trigger finger. And now it actually came in handy. He fired, and one stormtrooper fell.

And then Han did it- he gave suicidal chase! It was damned heartening. Chewie would give him a Wookiee hug if they survived. Han kept firing, moving forward, making the troopers retreat. They actually turned tail and hustled down the corridor, Han at their heels. He was quickly moving out of sight. "Get back to the ship!" he shouted to the other two.

Chewie waved at Luke and the Princess, in case he didn't come back, and went off in pursuit of his partner. "He certainly has courage," he heard the Princess declare.

The life debt remained intact. Chewie ran straight up the ramp of the _Falcon._ He knew now he could rely on Han to make sure the Princess and Luke got on board, even as Luke broke off to witness the horrible slaying of Kenobi at the hands of Darth Vader.

And so it turned out that Kenobi was a bird who flew off, beyond any place they could imagine, even Darth Vader, leaving behind a Princess, a farm hand, and a smuggler to finish what he'd started nineteen years ago. They were on their way to Yavin, to see if the Death Star could be destroyed. Han claimed he would collect the reward and leave, but Chewie thought he was just talking.

Something had taken root.


	7. Foul Stench

So the haughty Princess had some champions.

Governor Tarkin rubbed the fabric of his high-backed chair, where he would wait for Vader's further report. But he didn't sit; he began to pace, his arms folded behind his back.

What he knew right now was the would-be rescuers came in on an antiquated YT series freighter, with upgraded firepower, hyperdrive, and sensor range. A smuggler's ship, without a doubt. Had the Rebellion resorted to hiring criminals now?

The logs were obviously forged. Escape pods deployed, naturally. Made to look as though the freighter drifted through space on its own until it ran into the Death Star. The- who were they? A smuggling crew agreed to this? Surely they did not expect to live through this.

Tarkin's brow lowered. This didn't seem Bail Organa's style. He would want his daughter back, certainly. _Come on, Organa,_ Tarkin taunted in a thought. _Did you want a war or not?_

 _No matter. I gave you one._ And Tarkin couldn't hold back his small smile, vicious and triumphant. Organa may have plotted and negotiated from the background, but to emerge at the forefront had always been Tarkin's wish.

 _You aren't even around to protest what happened to Alderaan._

And the Princess was alone. No Senate to demand her release, no people to decry her execution. The Empire would silence her, once and for all.

Except she had the plans. Tarkin halted his pacing abruptly, and brought a hand to pinch his nose, the thought bringing a flicker of discomfort. The Emperor was furious about the theft. He was meeting with his own advisers on Coruscant now, engineers and admirals and architects. Tarkin's orders were to take no further action until it was ascertained the Death Star was invulnerable to attack.

The inefficiency rankled Tarkin. This meeting should have taken place years ago, when the plans were first drafted. It would have, if the Emperor had an inkling resistance to the formation of the Galactic Empire could grow. Twenty years almost, Tarkin reflected. It was only in the last few years the Rebellion had gained momentum. And now, having shown the galaxy what the Death Star was capable of, Tarkin should finally see some real fighting. And it would be over quickly, systems falling to obeisance as they faced the threat of their own extinction.

Unless…

Unless the Death Star was pregnable.

Tarkin doubted it. Perhaps, internally; an architectural design, but really- the amount of fire power on this battle station, planet-crumbling laser notwithstanding, was insurmountable. The Rebellion still had meager resources. All that was needed was to combine the cannons on the Death Star with defending Tie fighters and Star Destroyers and one battle is all it would take.

It was stupid to even entertain the notion of worrying about the Rebellion. He would hand the Emperor the galaxy, won by the Death Star, an ingenious idea conceived by Palpatine himself long ago. Tarkin expected to be rewarded for ending the war for him.

He strode to his desk and flicked on the data board an officer had provided showing the invasion of his Death Star from the hangar. The loss of life burned Tarkin. The two men from the scan crew, plus the two troopers standing guard. It shouldn't have happened.

A Wookiee. Tarkin's mouth soured with distaste. There was no understanding some humans. How they could be drawn to supporting the war, when the Rebellion welcomed beasts like that.

An older man- Kenobi, possibly. Vader said he sensed his old master. He didn't look very threatening. Tarkin felt an unsympathetic pity. The Jedi were their own undoing. The man was lucky to not be dead. Still, it did not look as life these past two decades had been easy.

Two men, wearing stolen stromtrooper uniforms. One was ill-fitting; the wearer was too short. The sight angered Tarkin. The misuse, the violation. Well, they wouldn't get far.

Four, against hundreds of thousands. Four unlikely champions. _Hmm._ It would be interesting to learn where they came from. Perhaps if they weren't killed in the attempt, they would occupy an interrogation cell before he had them executed. Tarkin took a seat and rubbed his palms nervously against the armrests. It would be a matter of time before they were all dead. He depressed the intercom button.

"Yes, Governor Tarkin," came the swift response.

"Where is Lord Vader?" Tarkin demanded, still scrolling past security images of the men taken before the cameras were shot out. "Send him to my office."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Tarkin clasped his fingers on his lap and breathed deep, determined to wait patiently.

Vader had not been able to retrieve the location of the rebel headquarters from the Princess. The Emperor had expressly dispatched Vader for this task, and he had failed.

Interesting.

Tarkin did not like Vader. He would be very glad when the Princess was dead and Vader resumed hunting Jedi or whatever it was the Emperor had him doing. But also, Tarkin realized with a malicious glee, he was rather hoping to be present when Vader reported his lack of progress to Palpatine.

Tarkin disliked Vader for his physical weakness. He stomped around in that awful lifesuit. It was one thing to need medical assistance breathing and whatever else was wrong with him, but to _brand_ himself so- was the cape necessary? The skull-shaped helmet? Did he see himself as a black death of the Empire?

And still he embraced the Force, even after Palpatine had him cross the galaxy making sure it was eradicated, in children even. Arrogant, holding the Force over them like their lives were in his power. Well, it was true; he could _think_ you dead. He was menacing, that was true, but above it all Tarkin thought of Vader as rather uninspired. Dull, even.

Tarkin chuckled to himself. What had the Princess said? She thought he was holding Vader's leash? Yes, she was the type of opponent he enjoyed. The ritual of dialog, of fair play. She and her father had deftly managed to avoid being targeted by Palpatine for a long time; unfortunately for them both, it was Tarkin who entered the ring.

One thing he could not abide was a liar, and she had lied to him. She had better be recaptured soon, and he was going to see that no red tape delayed her execution this time.

As if in time with his thoughts, the door whisked open and Vader shouldered his way through.

"Well?" Tarkin snapped.

"The intruders escaped the detention level through a garbage compactor. The Princess is with them."

"A what?" Tarkin snapped. "A _garbage_ compactor? Vader-"

"They have split up. I have a suggestion."

Tarkin was still trying to wrap his head around the incredible luck of the intruders. How had they known about what was through the walls of the detention level? Had they already perused the plans?

"Let them escape," Vader said.

Tarkin blinked. "What- let them- what?"

"Let them escape." Vader abandoned his usual pose of solid aloofness and leaned on the conference table. "They can lead us to the Rebellion."

"The Princess, maybe," Tarkin allowed. "But the others- what about Kenobi, your old master? You said escape was not his plan."

"I don't believe it is. He knows he cannot escape my notice, and he knows if we meet he will die. But the others must be allowed to go."

Tarkin stared at Vader, unused to the almost eagerness in the artificial voice.

Vader straightened, remembering himself. "The freighter needs a crew. The Princess cannot handle her herself."

"I suppose not," Tarkin considered Vader through narrowed eyes. "If we allow her to escape, she will bring the plans to the Rebellion. Emperor Palpatine has ordered me to-"

"I know what he has ordered," Vader said darkly. "But if you act, it is possible you will risk battle; it is just as possible you will end the war and earn the Emperor's gratitude."

"A freighter that size," Tarkin calculated, "should only need a crew of two. With a tracker, autopilot, we'll have them." He saw himself in audience with Palpatine; oh, it would be thrilling to end this conflict. "We must allow the illusion of escape," he continued. "It is unrealistic to expect all of them to get away. I'll instruct the stormtroopers to leave the Wookiee and Princess unharmed. That should please the misdirected rhetoric of the Rebellion. The two human men are dispensable."

Vader's fist lifted. "The men will live," he said.

Tarkin tugged at his collar, which suddenly felt very tight.

"The men will leave this battle station," Vader said, "with the Princess and Wookiee. Kenobi will be the only one to pay a price. His part, I feel, is a sacrifice, and I am only too happy to oblige my former master."

Tarkin coughed. "I don't see why-" and the collar got tighter. His eyes rolled, the whites showing, to Vader. "Very well," he said.

If Vader held his life by a string of the Force, Tarkin at least held the leash. He saluted the Princess. She was not stupid. She stole the plans, and they caught her. Now they were letting her go, with the plans, and essentially inviting themselves along for the ride. She had to know that.

Vader left to kill Kenobi, and Tarkin made his way to a security center. There, he watched as holocameras recorded stormtroopers leaving their posts to witness Lord Vader vanquish an elderly Jedi.

His own stormtroopers made escape not only possible, but easy! Tarkin shook his head, disgusted. But one of the men Tarkin would have shot broke off to watch Vader, and he screamed just as Vader was victorious. The hangar erupted in blaster fire, and Tarkin was barely able to make out two droids trundle their way up the ramp of the freighter, followed by a racing Wookiee. The Princess was with the other man.

Droids! Hadn't Vader sent troopers to Tatooine after two droids? Another failure. For a moment, Tarkin worried about agreeing to Vader's plan to let everyone return to the Rebellion unscathed. Vader's success rate in this mission was null. Then Tarkin dismissed his own fears. It was the Death Star the Rebellion was up against! There wasn't a chance in all of the Corellian hells Tarkin could fail.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _I wasn't going to include a Tarkin chapter, seeing as in the great scheme of Skywalker saga he's a pretty minor character, and he doesn't interact at all with our "intruders". I know nothing about him, too - I know the EU has a novel, but I haven't read it.  
The other night I wondered if I should omit him, and started doodling his POV and voila. So, even though there's nothing for readers who enjoy a real relationship, I hope it was entertaining anyway. _

_Thanks to all who have found this story and have left a comment. I so deeply appreciate it._


	8. A Larger World

The soft impression of Princess Leia's lips were still warm on Luke's cheek as they ran, and he filed it away with everything else that was coming at him. Nothing was in conscious realization, but like the way the rubble of Alderaan blindly hit the ship. A swirl of sensations, a whole bunch of them. The thud of their feet, the lack of blaster fire at the moment, her lips that had touched his cheek, the white of the floor, her hand in his. The fact he knew he had relaxed and was thinking, for the first time since his unintentional arrival on the Death Star, he- _they_ \- might actually get out alive.

The only conscious realization was what Ben had done for him; opened him up somehow; this is what the Force was, at least for Luke right now. He couldn't draw conclusions from it, but he _felt_ it.

He didn't know what it meant, or how to use it. He needed Ben. And as he thought that, along with the colors and ideas and questions, was a sinking feeling. He tried to ignore it, or attribute it to Han, or the last time he saw Han, chasing after stormtroopers, or the last time he saw Ben, his robes flapping about his ankles as he went to disable the tractor beam-

Ben left him. Just- left him. Luke had latched on to him like a baby to breast, after-

He had trouble thinking it. Saying it. _I'm alone_ was as far as he got and then he had to stop, because it was horrible.

Ben didn't promise a home or anything like that; he'd said only, _you should come, too_ , as if Luke had a choice, wanted a choice.

Ben would show Luke the Force. That was all he promised. And he did, too. Simple lessons, but it was almost enough, almost, to forgive everything that came before. Because, it was glorious. Like- Luke couldn't describe it. Almost like when you opened a familiar window the view was unexpectedly different: beauty beyond compare, and you were alone, but you didn't feel like you were; and you weren't afraid.

That was on the ship. They had to stop the lessons, because Ben felt sick suddenly. He said it was the Force, a disturbance, and Luke wondered if maybe he suffered from the same thing, why he couldn't think of Tatooine without feeling nauseous. Past that though, if he focused on the now, on what he was doing, there was that window and outside it an inviting beauty, and a peace that was powerful somehow. He'd never thought of peace like that, that it was strong.

Ben didn't offer to teach Han the Force. Or the Wookiee copilot, Chewbacca. Apparently, he couldn't? Han said he didn't believe in it, but Ben told Luke he wasn't sensitive to it. Luke had not heard much of the Force, but he believed all Ben said about it. Ben was a Jedi, and what's more, what was more important, so was Luke's father, before he was killed by Darth Vader. Ben gave Luke his father's lightsaber, and apparently his father was the reason Luke was sensitive to the Force.

And then, on the Death Star, Ben left him. He said he had to go alone, that Luke couldn't help. He said the Force would be with Luke always.

A terrible unease trickled from the top of Luke's head and slowly worked its way down his body. His instincts were warning him _it's just like Owen and Beru, don't_ but he couldn't see how. Ben was quietly sure. His aunt and uncle had merely been home. Answered the door.

So he let Ben go, and the window was open but the view was blocked. There was just this control room, very white, with flashing computer terminals and the smell of blaster fire from when Han shot everyone in it.

He was stuck with Han, locked in a room, for the immediate future. A belligerent, stubborn man. Closed off. It was too late for Luke to change his mind and chase after Ben. He didn't know which way he'd gone. There were seven separate locations from which the tractor beam could be disabled. He could ask R2 to pull up the layout again, but in all honesty he found it hard to read.

His hand tapped against his leg. He was fidgety. He wanted to snap. The Wookiee warbled something, and Han's head was cocked. They could be caught any second and they all needed to blow off some steam. Han offered a fight, which Luke took up gratefully. Words at first, and maybe it would have gone further, but R2 began to whistle excitedly and C-3PO told them, after several false starts at actually informing them of anything, that the Princess was held prisoner here and scheduled for execution.

And it happened to Luke again, the strange sensation of being plucked from the familiar, and being whisked somewhere strange, somewhere new, and you knew there was never any going back.

His uncle had said to get the droid's memory wiped and forget about the message and crazy Ben, and Luke would have done as he was told if the droid hadn't run away first. He was in full agreement with his uncle after he learned R2 tricked him. He sure was a scrappy astromech.

But then the droid wouldn't get to the Rebellion, and the Princess would be executed, and the Empire would still come looking for the droids, and Luke might have been home when-

"You'd have been killed, too," Ben had said.

And no one would know. No one would care. A whole Empire. Not about his aunt and uncle, a princess, certainly not about him, a farm boy. But it hadn't gone like that; Luke hadn't been killed, and he found he cared. Very much.

The Force's wish was for him to be with her. Wasn't it? Wasn't that what he was feeling? Ben thought she would already be dead by now so they hadn't discussed her, just her mission.

The droid had come to him. Yes, yes, Luke told himself impatiently, R2 knew all the time he was searching for Kenobi, but still. He hadn't made it. Not until he met Luke first, and Luke accessed a piece of the holomessage the Princess recorded for Ben. And- Luke struggled with the logic, because he was a reasonable person and this had been too crazy- Ben's part was the mission. Just the mission. See the droid to Alderaan. But Luke had been alone when he first saw the Princess and now he was alone again when he learned of her here on the Death Star. Well, not alone. Han was in the room too, very confused by all the excitement.

Luke knew he was looking for meaning, reading into every nuance and possibility. He was on the Death Star. The Princess was, too. Surely they were destined to meet? Almost as a stray thought, Luke included Han. And Chewbacca. If his life was to have meaning, or destiny, then theirs should, too. And it looked like Han's could use some meaning, hanging around shady cantinas like he did, smuggling for a Hutt.

Yes. He was supposed to be here. Not to help Kenobi, who said he was too old for this kind of thing. _Then why,_ Luke's inner voice snidely asked, _did he insist on going alone?_ and his unease returned tenfold.

But he was going to rescue the Princess. And he was so determined, so firm in this, that he even managed to sway Han.

Not at first. He wasn't able to convince the smuggler of the value of a human life. He turned his back on Han for a moment, to think really hard.

He remembered all the judgments he'd made about Han, and how Ben taught him physical sight could be clouded by one's own perceptions. His own understanding of human nature- maybe it was the Force, Luke wouldn't know- told him he had to take everything together. The freighter, that Luke thought was junk but Han said was famous, Ben adding seven thousand on top of Han's fee, the Wookiee that stood behind him.

Han was a self-preserving man who got himself into a lot of trouble. Seemed contradictory, but that's what Luke read. It was all he had to go on. He turned back to Han and took a big breath.

"She's rich," Luke mentioned suggestively in the man's ear.

Probably she was, Luke shrugged to himself. Weren't all princesses? "The reward would be..."

Han seemed to agree that all princesses had untold wealth. And he was in. All in, until he met the Princess.

She had hugged Han in the garbage masher. Luke had not let that detail go by him. And she wanted to follow Han when he gave chase to the stormtroopers, maybe just to stay together, but maybe for another reason. Han ordered them back, so Luke took her hand and when they ran off in the opposite direction she didn't resist.

For a time they'd met some stiff opposition from the other side of that chasm Luke created when he stupidly shot the bridge controls out, but the Princess proved she could hit a stormtrooper as well as she could hit a wall- something a trooper could not say- and they exited the area with no one on their tail.

Luke wasn't going to question this. He should, but he wasn't going to. It was Ben, he hoped; it might be he made a Force bubble- was there such a thing?- and was protecting the two.

Except- how? Ben didn't know Luke left the communications room with Han and Chewie to rescue the Princess. Luke didn't know where Ben was. As a matter of fact, he didn't know where _he_ was.

He reviewed their path as they ran. The _Millennium Falcon_ had been directly below them, and Han and Chewbacca ran off in one direction, while Luke and the Princess had retreated the way they had come, detouring at the first intersection that seemed right, and following that with numerous turns, trying to outrace pursuers.

He stopped when they came to another intersection and pulled on the Princess's hand to skid her to a halt, too. "We need to figure out where we are," he panted. "I wish we had R2 with us. I'm lost."

The Princess glanced up and down each corridor. "You're not Special Forces, are you?" she questioned in that same ironic tone she used when Luke had first entered her cell.

"No," Luke shook his head, not sure why he should be embarrassed he wasn't. "But I think R2 may be."

She took a step closer, her eyes on him now. "Did my father send you?" Her voice was hope against hope, and Luke remembered her instructions in the holomessage: see R2 safely to Alderaan, where her father would know what to do.

This time Luke knew it was right to be sorry. "No," he told her, and watched as her eyes retreated slowly.

"Then-" she knit a brow, sad and hurt all of a sudden, "- then, how did you know I was here?"

"I didn't." Luke was honest; he had to be, as much as she didn't want to hear the truth, how the Rebellion was going to disavow her.

They didn't have time to go into the whole story, so he said, "I'd seen your holomessage, with Ben; I knew who you were. We hired Han- the other man- to bring us to Alderaan, but he got us sucked onto this Death Star. And when R2 was plugged in to show us how to disable the tractor beam he saw you were here."

The Princess didn't seem impressed. "I sent R2 away to make sure the Empire didn't get hold of him."

Luke was feeling every ounce a moisture farmer. In the control room, Luke had been inspired, bold and courageous. The Princess's own sacrifice made him want to make one of his own. How it must look to her! He and Han had blundered their way to her, leaving R2 unguarded and risking her mission again.

"It was an accident of fate. We'd be flattened garbage if it weren't for R2," Luke reminded her. It wasn't over yet. R2 still avoided capture and they were still alive. "We're leaving here," he added defiantly."And we aren't leaving without you."

She shot him a glance. Not grateful, but neither was she complaining. Amused, almost. "Why is no one chasing us?" she asked rhetorically, again not complaining. "Something must have caught their attention elsewhere. Come on. I think this way parallels that chasm."

She hadn't even seen Ben yet, Luke thought. General Kenobi. The same man meant different things to two people. She knew he was a Jedi. Luke had known Kenobi all his life: not well, but as the resident crazy kids were told to stay away from on Tatooine. Was it an act? Then why-

For Luke's father? For Luke? Then why-

The Princess, who seemed to possess an innate sense of direction, made a left and broke away from Luke at a run. There was Han at the other end, solid and very alive. And irritated, which Luke felt he didn't deserve, that Han had been kept waiting.

The Princess had been correct. Something _had_ caught the attention of the Death Star personnel, on the hangar level. Stormtroopers were actually wandering from their posts to the area where earlier Luke and the others had caught a lift up to the control room. They were talking among themselves. Luke heard muffled male voices underneath the white helmets.

And the air vibrated. It fluctuated, in all aspects. The sound it made, its temperature even, and it shimmered with a pale glow. He followed the noise, because he'd made it too.

Lightsabers! And Ben, his raised warily, held at an angle, fending off a masked being in a black cape. The being was very tall, but Luke couldn't tell who, or what it was- there was no skin visible, no features. His new nightmare. The air breathed, steadily in and out. Ben was outmatched, and Luke's thought screamed, _Let me. No. Don't leave me._

"Ben?"

 _No!_

The two adversaries shuffled, swinging their sabers slowly, carefully, as if both were waiting for something. More stormtroopers gathered in front of Luke, and he saw Ben scan the crowd. _Everyone has a sacrifice,_ Luke heard in his head.

He was frantic, rooted to the spot. How, how, was all he was thinking. How to get in there, get to him, get out. Ben saw him, but he made no sign of urgency. Instead Luke got a feeling of peace. Ben abandoned his fighting stance and stood tall, his lightsaber held proudly straight. He smiled at Luke.

"No!" Luke screamed, for the black being took his advantage, and struck, and Ben's robe fell to the ground, empty. The troopers turned, some confused, one saying, "It's them!" and he lifted his blaster.

Luke heard Han yell, "Kid!", and he heard the engines of the ship, and he heard Ben in a memory, only Ben had never said, "Run, Luke!"; but over the blaster fire, and the sound emanating from the black being, Luke heard the Princess. "Luke, it's too late!" she shouted.

Ben was gone. He had left Luke. Without him, Luke didn't think he could feel the Force, and beauty had disappeared. There was only a ship, with a man and a Wookiee piloting her, but the Princess was going to board, so Luke would, too. He didn't know what the Force wanted. He might never, but it had led him to the Princess.

He would stay with her, wherever she went. Side by side or hand in hand, it didn't matter. For Ben, his father, and Alderaan. They would fight until beauty was restored, and along the way he would journey to worlds he never heard of, to friends and enemies.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _I want to thank all of you who have followed along. Did you have a favorite chapter? I put a Wish in each one (I think I did)- it might not be phrased as that specifically, but did you notice and what did you think?_

 _It is very fun to write, and even more fun to share, so thank you again._


End file.
